


Never

by surrendertothesky



Category: Dark-Hunter Series - Sherrilyn Kenyon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrendertothesky/pseuds/surrendertothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tia Devereaux comes back to life. With a vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

But we all know what should have been.

They meet one day while he’s eating oysters with her sisters. Or maybe in her shop – he needs an exorcist for work.

Or perhaps they meet in a bar.

It doesn’t matter really.

Maybe they fall into bed immediately, but, knowing her, she makes him work for it. He is surprised and irritated. He can’t remember that last time someone didn’t fall for his charm.

She thinks he’s cute. That silkspeak would work on _her_ , oh please. He stops though and she realises that he’s totally unaware of his power.

Or maybe she’s just stubborn.

After weeks, months or even years they start dating.

One by one all eight of her sisters threaten him with an increasingly painful demise if he ever hurts her.

Only the twins mention that she’ll probably do it herself.

He introduces her to his mother and it’s love at first sight. His mother tells her all of his embarrassing childhood moments.

She tells his mother about the time he whacked his head on the low doorframe of her shop.

She bullies him about proposing not knowing that the ring’s in his back pocket.

They marry a few months later.

The wedding is huge. She’s always had family, eight sisters, parents, nieces and nephews.

But he only has his mother. It bothered him for a while but now he has her too.

And the kids.

They come along later. Three beautiful, outgoing girls and a shy, quiet boy with all his parents’ powers.

Their grandmother adores them.

They idolise their cousins.

They all live happily ever after and die painlessly in their sleep at a ripe old age.

 

* * *

 

But we all know what really happened.

They never meet.

She dies in her shop, in her _sanctuary_ , and all her power can’t save her – only marks her out as a target.

He kills himself in his mother’s house, her bloody, broken body at his feet, anguish and fury etched on every line of his face.

And it’s all my fault.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes with a gasp, her breath clouding in the air. It is dark, she can barely see her hand in front of her face. She waits, though, and her eyes adjust. A wall looms and a gate and she almost realises where she is.

She pushes herself up into a sitting position only to bash her head on the low ceiling. She sees stars and swears loudly and at length, blood dripping from her forehead. She wipes it away and feels around with her hands, fingers rippling over dust and cold stone.

And there! Metal – even colder than the stone – edges smoothed by time and countless hands, the bolts holding it to the stone, fingers tracing the engraving...

She screams then, it all crashing back, what happened and where she must be.

Oh god.

She slips from her seat, and charges to the gate. It doesn’t matter that she can’t see, she knows this place like the back of her hand. She rattles the gate not expecting it to be that easy. It isn’t, the lock is stuck firm. Only in New Orleans would you lock tombs.

She knows this better than most. After all, she’s one of the people they’re trying to keep out.

Well. Maybe not anymore. The dead do walk.

Speaking of, she puts her fingers to her wrist and panics in the long moment before she feels the blood rushing under her skin. Sagging in relief, she leans against the gate, the warm night air pulling at her dress.

Curious, she whispers under her breath, hands moving, and discovers she is as powerful as the day she died. The magic curls through her, sweeping through her limbs and settling in her belly.

Not powerless. Never again.

Unwillingly, the memory takes her over. A twist of fate, the daimon’s teeth in her neck, blood and soul and power ripped from her in moments. She was dead before she hit the ground.

She doesn’t remember what happened after.

There is a life after death, she knows this. Her magic uses it, her baby sister is married to a _vampire_.

She turns and grips the lock firmly in both hands, pushing her power into it until it pops. She may specialise in hoodoo but she can do regular sorcery as well. But it drains her. She bends over, hands braced on her knees, breathing hard, heart racing.

It takes a few minutes before she’s ok but she steps out into the moonless night, low clouds hiding the stars, the smell of rain on the air. She looks back at the tomb, her family name written in corroding brass above the door. She pushes the gate shut and reminds herself to get the key to lock it.

Brushing the dust of her dress, it occurs to her that she doesn’t know how long she’s been dead. It’s strange. It feels like it was only yesterday that she died, but it could have been months or even years. She needs to find a newspaper.

But what’s stranger is that the cemetery is quiet, silent even. Right now, in the dead of night, it should be all but teeming with practitioners and the curious come to see the dead.

She hops of the tomb’s step onto the path and knows why. Grief and suffering and pure, gleeful evil rips through her sending her stumbling back against the step. She trips and sits down with a bump, the sensation gone.

She experiments. Standing up, her hand on the wall, she braces herself before lifting her hand. Agony, flames and hate.

Her own ground is safe it seems. It becomes easier to think the longer she stays. The sensation doesn’t go away but she becomes aware that it is not directed at her. She steps onto the path again and follows it to the exit. She could cut through the graves and get there faster but tonight she doesn’t want to risk it with whatever it is out there.

She turns the corner and can see the gate, nervously happy. She may just get out of this without attracting its notice.

But whatever it is strides out onto the path in front of her and she jerks to a halt, heart in her throat. He is not human, not with eyes like that, but man-shaped. Taller than her by nearly half a foot, he looms in her vision, blocking her escape.

*

He is surprised to find someone here. Normal, sensible people run at the sight of him – even hugely powerful people like Jared and Seth fear him and what he could do if he let his iron hard control go for a moment.

There is fear in her gaze but mostly defiance. She doesn’t want to be afraid, he realises. There is something vaguely familiar about her, too – the shape of her eyes, the way she holds herself, head slightly cocked – but he can’t place it.

He looks at her properly. Long curly hair held off her face with a scarf, elegant wine red dress to her knees. She looks like she’s off to a party except for her feet – bare but for mud and grit.

“Who are you?” he asks for a lack of anything else to do.

“I –” She stops and chews over for a moment. “I’m Tia. Tiyana Devereaux.”

The name hits him like a punch in the gut. “Tabby and Mandy’s sister? But you’re dead!”

She opens her mouth to say something but he cuts her off. “I won’t tell them. Not if you don’t want me to. I understand, I do. I’m Nick Gautier.”

She gapes in shock. “You’re the snotty kid who works for Kyrian?”

“Mandy really called me snotty?”

“No, Tabby.”

“Figures.”

She laughs, surprising him. Nobody _laughs_ at his jokes anymore. Not since that Christmas when the truth came out. And it is so gratifying that he laughs along with her and feels almost human.

He sobers up with her next question, however. “How long have I been dead?”

“Nine years.”

*

She reels in shock. Nine years! She cannot even begin to imagine how the world has changed.

“Tell me,” she says.

“What?”

“Everything.”

Several emotions streak across his face – joy and hesitation and shame – before it all comes out in a rush, as if he doesn’t want to say. “Tabby married Valerius – they’ve got two kids. Mandy and Kyrian had a son. Katrina – massive hurricane – killed thousands, drowned the city. I died the same night you did and became a Dark-Hunter –”

She interrupts him then. “How can you be in a cemetery then?”

“Four years after that I discovered that I was never human so...”

She nods, understanding that there are some things you can’t just _tell people_ , even – _especially_ – if that person is the sister of your boss’ wife. “The usual rules don’t apply, got it.” She cocks her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting my mom.”

What? And then it dawns. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. What are you going to do?”

The abrupt change in topic throws her for a moment. Shaking her head, she replies, “I have no idea, I hadn’t got that far.”

“What about a drink?”

“God, yes.”

*

He takes her to Sanctuary. Where else would he go? They aren’t his friends anymore – how can you be friends with someone who is afraid of you? – but he doesn’t have to hide and that, in itself, is all he wants right now.

He is fascinated by her. The way she moves is smooth and drifting, her eyes wide in wonder.

It was strange enough for _him_ – stepping into the world only to find that two years had passed even though it’d only been a few weeks for him – he thought it must be even stranger for her.

To be dead and to come back wasn’t unusual – he knows this better than most – but to just wake up after nine years? It baffles him.

She baffles him.

She’s taking this much more calmly than he would have thought. He had raged and screamed and killed people when he found out about Katrina but she had just nodded and moved on.

How could she _do that?_

Then again, she’s a Devereaux. They take strangeness in their stride.

She halts suddenly and he turns to look at her. They’re about a block away from Sanctuary and he can see Dev standing in the light from the doorway.

“What is it?” he asks, concerned.

“I can’t do this. Look at me,” she gestures at herself, “I’m a mess.”

“They won’t mind.”

“No, I can’t. I – I’m dead!” She put her head in her hands. “I can’t just –”

He gets it. God ever, does he get it. He still can’t bring himself to go see Maggie and Wren. He puts his arm around her, knowing nothing he can say will ever make it alright, and squeezes her tight. “Come on, let’s go get that drink.”

*

Ash walks in to Sanctuary to the strains of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’, his long coat swishing behind him, glasses flashing. It’s all very dramatic.

At least, it is until he trips over his own shoelaces and Aimee takes one look at him and laughs her head off. If his wife were here she’d tell him his embarrassed blush was as cute as a button. He disagrees but – god – he loves her.

Every time he thinks that, it’s a shock to him – as if realising it for the first time. And then he grins and asks Aimee for a beer.

She gets it for him and he leans against the bar so he can see the room. It’s all the usual crowd – half the Were population of New Orleans, some bikers and a lot of tourists. All the daimons must have cleaned out when he arrived.

Shortly after his marriage and the birth of his son they’d become bolder. They thought that Tory and Bas would soften him – to be honest, Ash had thought so too – but, if anything, they had made him more ruthless.

He was quite happy with this state of affairs.

And then he saw the eternal headache and pain in his ass known as Nick Gautier and knew all chance of a peaceful night was shot to hell.

Nick was chatting up some woman. They both had beer and Nick was wearing his I-am-concerned-I-am-listening-I-am-going-to-get-laid face. Only he wasn’t, not really. The woman was terrified – shaking, her knuckles white around the bottle – and Ash moved to intervene.

If Nick was scaring up dates now he was slipping faster than Ash had thought. It still grieved Ash that he and Nick had never made up after Cherise’s death. Despite what Nick has gotten up to since, Ash still considers Nick his friend. He needed to deal with this.

Nick’s head shoots up at Ash’s approach, his face twisting with hatred, demon eyes flashing. Nick has no shame about his demonic paternity; anger, yes, but no shame – Ash envies him that.

The woman also turns around and you could have knocked Ash over with a feather. How had he not _seen this?_

*

She sees guilt and shock and relief on Ash’s face. She knows who he is – how many six foot eight Goths are there? Putting her bottle on the table and slipping from her seat she grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down to eye level.

“You bastard,” she spits, fury filling her, power spilling over and affecting every dead thing in the bar. “You killed me. I have lost nine years of my life! _Nine years!_ I could have been happy but you lost your fucking _temper!_ ” She pauses, taking care with her next words; an idea blossoming in her mind. “You will not tell my family. You will not interfere with my business. And you will not talk to me. I don’t even want to smell you on my turf.”

He pushes her away, she knows it’s rougher than he’d be with any normal human and she is fiercely glad. She smiles at him, all teeth and malice, and relishes the moment, savouring each word before she speaks, “I died with power, Acheron, I’ve come back with a _hell_ of a lot more and I’m going to tell the Malachai _exactly_ what happened that night.”

Ash blanched, sadness filling his eyes, his voice resigned, “What are you going to do?”

“What I was always going to, rule this city. You claim you’re saving us but too often humans get caught in the crossfire. I will protect them, you won’t.”

She pushes past him, pulling Nick by the hand – out past the staring Weres, out on to the street, the night air filling her lungs. She breathes deep, feeling calm for the first time since she woke up.

He pulls her around to face him, their bodies bumping together. “What do you mean ‘ _exactly_ what happened that night’?”

“Oh, Nicholas,” she breathes, twining her fingers through his hair and pulling his forehead to hers. She kisses him, her power and memories flowing into him. What was, what never happened, what will be.

He kisses her back, hands roving and she feels the scrape of bricks on her back as he presses her against the wall. And he returns her gift. The rush of power is blinding in its intensity and she laughs, drunk with it, breaking the kiss.

She looks at him through her lashes, deliberately coy, and he makes to kiss her again. She slides away, out of reach. “You want me, Nick Gautier? Come and get me.” She grins as she dances out of reach, running down the street.

He follows, as she knew he would. He will catch her and she is so happy her heart could burst.


	3. Chapter 3

Tia borrows some money from Nick as dawn begins to light up their city; they part ways at her insistence. He could help her with this – he _wants_ to help her – but right now she doesn’t need the added complication Nicholas Gautier will bring.

She buys flip flops and a prepaid phone and makes the long walk across town to her parents’ house. She could take the bus but she has time to kill and she’s always loved the city at dawn.

She sits on a bench in the square watching some early bird stall holders setting up for the day. Across the way she can see Sunshine Runningwolf unload her pottery from her wheelbarrow.

She decides to leave then. Tia has never really been friends with Sunshine – that’s Selena’s area – but she doesn’t want to risk being recognised. She turns, hiding her face with her hair and walks out the way she came in.

By ten o’clock she figures it’s safe and walks up her parents’ street. There are no cars in the drive and for a moment Tia fears that they’ve moved. If they’ve moved it will be harder and riskier and her mind whirls into plan B.

But no. They still live here. Her mother’s hand painted plant pots sit by the front door and she smiles, seeing that her mother still _can’t paint_.

She jumps the fence and walks behind the house, her sandals slapping on the concrete. She tries the back door and it is – thankfully – locked. She lifts up the big stone out of the flower bed to get the spare key and lets herself in.

Not much has changed in the nine years she’s been dead. The hall is a different colour now and there are different pictures on the walls but the house still feels the same. She stands still for a moment just breathing it in – the smell of her mother’s perfume, the way the sunlight falls across the floor.

Tia’s home and relief overwhelms her for a moment, happiness only a step behind.

But she’s here for a reason and finds what she’s looking for stuck to the fridge.

*

At this point he’s been awake for a little over twenty four hours and exhaustion is pulling at him. But every time he stills, thoughts rush through his head – of her, of his mother and the things that might have been. His mother crosses his mind hourly and every time he chokes on his tears, following it the swift surge of anger towards his father.

Power prickles through him, burning his insides in pain and horror and ecstasy.

It scares him how good the power feels.

It scares him how much he craves the rush it gives him.

How much he wants to lose control and destroy everything.

It’s what he was born to do.

But he thinks of her and the power subsides. Last night, when she pushed her power and knowledge into him he felt like he knew what to do for the first time in years. No longer aimless, no longer afraid.

He walks back to his house in the rising sun and he can tell the day is going to be a scorcher.

*

Sitting outside a cafe, Tia texts her sisters in the code they always used as kids and waits while sipping her coffee.

Tabitha and Amanda arrive together, they look both more and less identical than they used to. Tabby’s scars and Amanda’s clothes are the big differences but there’s the way they wear their hair, the way they hold themselves – no one would ever mistake them for anything but twins.

It makes the look of shock on their faces even more identical.

The air is knocked from her lungs as they tackle her in a hug that nearly causes Tia to fall off her chair.

Selena arrives as they pick themselves up, her knees buckling in shock and Tabby slides out a chair to catch her. Selena gapes, unaware of her surroundings.

“Careful, Lainey,” Tia says, “You might swallow a fly.”

“How?” The word comes stark and lonely, the only quiet in the noisy street.

Tia shrugs. “I don’t know.” Seeing the looks on her sisters’ faces she adds, “Truly, I don’t. I just wanted to see you.”

“Why us, Tee?” Tabby says, straight to the point as always.

“It had to be you, the others won’t understand. Not really.”

Amanda shrugs. “I guess not. Does anyone else know?”

“Yeah. Acheron.” She takes a steadying breath. “And Nick.”

*

Their reaction is nothing she hadn’t expected but it still hurts. Her sisters love Nick but they don’t know him anymore. The man they knew was kind and generous with a hell of a temper and he’s gone.

Well, not gone – not exactly – she has seen that side of him, tasted it in his mind, but it’s buried under hate and self-loathing and the concentration it takes not to erupt.

She doesn’t tell them what she plans to do.

She doesn’t tell them what it will cost.

*

The house is silent around him. Dust floats in the sunbeams, his mother’s things laid out just as she left them all those years ago.

Only they aren’t, not really. It’s his house but other feet have tracked through it – the police, his friends, ghosts and memory.

The scruffy leather armchair sits by the window and if he closes his eyes he can imagine her curled up there with tea and a paperback.

And if he scrunches his nose and blocks out everything else he can hear her say, “Oh, _cher_.”

He begins to cry then. Sinking onto the floor, he wraps his arms around his knees and cries properly for the first time in years.

*

It’s how Tia finds him hours later.

They don't speak until the sun goes down. Hunger clenches in Tia’s belly but she doesn't move from his side. Sometime around four she recalls waking up, never remembering falling asleep.

Looking up at him, he too is awake.

"Did you sleep at all?" Her voice seems overly loud in the silence.

He nods. "A little. I don't..."

She squeezes his hand. "I know." Even now their minds are partially joined, his nightmares leaking through.

*

He sleeps rarely these days. The nightmares wake him and fear keeps him from falling asleep.

And he dreams of his parents. Their eyes burn though him; both in disappointment and for a moment he loathes his mother.

"I'm trying," he wants to tell her. Trying not disappoint her.

But his father - oh, but his father scares him. Always has.

But hate is powerful and with each breath wrath swells in him. Power builds, curling though his hands, ready to strike.

He recalls, at the last moment, his mother's eyes and drops his arms, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Sorry, mama."

And he wakes, bursting into consciousness, fear gripping him tight.

*

When Tia wakes she pulls the fear from his mind. He fights for a moment, not wanting her to see, but it doesn't matter because she has already. He relaxes into her embrace, resting his forehead against hers. His breath is warm on her face.

“I’m starting to think I woke up because of you.”

“Yeah?”

“You were throwing around a lot of power last night; the entire cemetery was humming. Can you do necromancy? Cause I can; but I've never done it on that scale.”

He swore softly.

“Yes, I take it?”

“I don’t – I don’t have a lot of control though.”

*

Shame rips through him. In another life – a life where he grew up knowing what he was – he might have mastered it. But in this one his control is _miserable_.

Her arms tighten around him and he recalls what he saw in her head.

Her rage at Ash had been a palpable thing on her tongue and her grief – a life not lived; a city, a family, in tatters – had leaked from her very pores. He had wanted, more than ever before, to hold the Atlantean’s heart in his fist.

But not for himself – not this time. This time it would be for _her_.

He’s the Malachai – whatever life tosses his way he can take – but she was just a girl trying to make a living; not cowed by the dark.

“It’s ok, Nick.” He starts a little at the sound of his name on her lips. The way she says it makes him, for a moment, feel like the man he used to be.

But he can’t be that person anymore. That kid had a _life_. A dangerous, sometimes terrifying life but it was better than this.

That kid had friends, half a law degree and a job.

That kid thought he knew what was out there.

That kid had a _mother_.

He swallows the lump in his throat and says, “It’s not ok and you know it.”


	4. Chapter 4

“No,” Tia agrees, running her hand down his face; his stubble and Hunter’s mark catching on her fingertips. “It won’t be ok. Not like this.” She swallows, suddenly nervous, and lifts her head to look him in the eye. “But we can make it _better_.”

He starts. The shockwave jumps through him and Tia tumbles to the floor as he stands up. “Oh,” he says. “That’s why you’re here!” He smiles and paces over to the window. “That’s why you blew up at Acheron!”

Tia lies on the floor grinning up at him like an idiot; Nick _gets_ it.

*

It occurs to him, just then, that trusting her is not necessarily a good idea. How does he _know_ that she’s Tia Deveraux. He’d barely known her back then; how can he be _sure_.

He doesn’t allow his unease to show on his face. These last few years he’s become very good at it. Well, most of the time.

Rage nearly always gets through; no matter how much he tries to tamp it down.

Tia – or the thing that looks like Tia – picks herself off the floor and says, “Ash got us killed, Nick. He pronounced Fate and I got _murdered_. Why shouldn’t I hate him?” She swallows. “So many people died that night. Me, you, your mother. Amanda and Kyrian. So many people who never even knew to protect themselves! He did that, Nick. He could have saved us all but he didn’t!” Her voice cracks at this last. “He wouldn’t save us; he wouldn’t lift a goddamn finger.”

“That’s what hurts most isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“That he saved Amanda but not you.”

“What? No! I –” Her face falls. “I mean, yeah, sort of. But I’m happy Amanda’s alive! I never ever would want her dead. But –”

“Why was she saved and no one else?”

“Yeah.”

*

Tia looks away. She can’t look him in the eye. If she does she’ll see that he doesn’t trust her anymore. The light in his eyes had changed a moment before and she knew she’d lost him.

It is regrettable but she can do this without him. It would have been nice to involve him; to give him fair warning but it can’t be helped.

She gets to her feet and hugs him. “Thanks, Nick, but I’m out.” It’s cold, it’s less than he deserves, it’s a hell of a lot less than she wants to say but it’ll have to do.

*

He watches her walk out the door. He watches her walk back down the street, the sun beginning to slide above the horizon, and wonders if he’s screwed up entirely.

Probably. His life is just one disaster after another after all.

He rolls his shoulders, getting the kink out of his neck, and turns back into the house.

*

Tia returns to the cemetery. She has always found it peaceful there. It’s quiet and reverent and _powerful_. Her power has always come from her family. Generations upon generations of Devereauxs and Floras lived and died in this city and she can feel them in her bones.

And each and every one of them will lend her strength now.

She sits cross-legged in the middle of the central path, the grit of the concrete digging into her skin, and begins.

The temperature plummets, the wind rises and rain buckets down.

In the centre of it all sits Tia Devereaux; dead still and not a drop on her.

*

The storm is unexpected.

Ash squints at the sky and for a moment he can see flashes of something other than lightning in the clouds. Behind him, Tory rolls over in bed and yawns. “What time is it?”

“Just after five.”

She groans and pulls the covers back over her head. She emerges a moment later to say, “Babe. What is it?”

Ash flops on the bed and puts his head in her lap. “I dunno. It’s weird, I feel like something’s happening and that I should know what it is. But I _don’t_ and it scares the shit out of me.”

“Hah. So you’re saying that for once in your life you don’t know all the variables? Nice of you to join the rest of us in the real world.” She is not unsympathetic but her tone softens nonetheless, “How long has this been happening?”

“Since last night.”

“Since you met the dead woman?”

“Yeah. Did I tell you who she was?”

“Tabitha’s sister, you said.”

“No, I – I mean did I tell you who she was to Nick?” Tory shakes her head and Ash continues, “If I hadn’t said what I said they’d probably be married now. Neither of them would hate me. Cherise would be alive. Nick’d be _happy_.”

“Hey hey,” she cups his face in her hands and looks him in the eye, “don’t beat yourself up. It was a mistake, we all make them. And, anyway, he’d still be the Malachai. That alone is enough to fuck anyone up.”

“It’s just – I just. Something’s _coming_ , Tory. Coming here, to our city, and it feels so familiar. I should know what it is but I can’t put my finger on it.”

*

They arrive quietly.

The dead fade into the world. Not to where they died – Tia would never be so cruel – but to where they are needed.

Tia hopes they will understand why she has done this to them. “This is not a punishment,” she tells them “This is not hell. If you want to leave I will understand. I only want to help you; I only want to help the people you’ve left behind. To help you say the things you never got to say.” She smiles at them. “You definitely have until this time tomorrow but after that I make no guarantees. Sorry.”

One of them, their form still indistinct, says, “How can we repay you?” Behind the words is a murmur of agreement from the others.

After a moment Tia says, “There is something you could do. Tell them Tia Devereaux sent you.”


End file.
